


Off the Radar

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt Eggsy, M/M, Protective Harry Hart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We are not going after him,” Arthur said, for the third time. “He’s likely dead.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“We are not going after him,” Arthur said, for the third time. “He’s likely dead.”

Harry could be polite when it suited him. He could be charming, diplomatic, and proper as easily as disarming a gang of thugs or shooting moving targets. Merlin often jokes that he could open a small business scam on the side and retire comfortably to a private island.

But now, Harry didn’t give a fuck about about propriety. “Eggsy is out there!”

“The glasses went dark, Galahad,” Merlin said gently, clutching his tablet in one hand. “Right before he fell off that cliff.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! Eggsy could have grabbed something on the way down! His glasses most likely fell off in the fall and broke along the way!”

“The bullet near his head—”

“Could have simply grazed.” Harry shook his head, pacing. “You know head wounds, Merlin. They often look worse than they seem.”

“It’s the dead of winter—”

“We have a safehouse nearby—”

“He can’t find it without the glasses—”

“He knows navigation—”

“Enough!” Arthur snapped, looking as if he was about to slam his fist down on the table. “Eggsy Unwin is most likely gone. We shall hold a toast for him, and start the trials—”

“Trials?” Harry couldn’t believe this. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours!”

He knew Arthur hated Eggsy, hated him with the stubborn prejudice that was born out of being raised to believe that being born in a certain class made him somehow better than anyone else. Harry had endured all of Arthur’s complaints about Eggsy from the moment he proposed this young man and had enjoyed seeing Arthur’s purple-red face when Eggsy was knighted. Except, just because Eggsy was officially a Kingsman, didn’t mean that he was fully accepted.

Harry tried his best to make things easier for the young man, and that was part of the reason why he encouraged Eggsy to keep their budding relationship a secret. Bad enough to be a so-called chav—worse to be anything other than heterosexual. Harry could, to quote Arthur, “flaunt,” however he liked, but he was Kingsman’s most senior field agent with the most successful missions under his belt. He had that safety net and job security. Eggsy did not.

Harry now was ready to regret that. How long and how much had he wanted to hold Eggsy close in HQ’s hallways, hold his hand during a particularly aggravating meeting, or snog him senseless after a successful mission? Eggsy was so different at home, so comfortable in his own skin, and it rankled Harry for Eggsy to step into his posh accent and painfully-stiff manners to be able to get some positive recognition to those who were willing to overlook his high mission success rates. And if Eggsy was lost—

No. He wasn’t. Harry would know, somehow, in his heart. Not the most reliable method—perhaps pure fantasy and delusion—but Harry wasn’t willing to give up on Eggsy.

Besides, the rule of spy films was to always check for a body.

“Kingsman cannot remain without an agent for long,” Arthur said coldly. “Your sentimentality must be pushed aside for the greater good. Galahad, you’re dismissed.”

“Thank you kindly,” Harry spat, and made sure to slam the door on the way out.

Fuck Arthur. Fuck Kingsman. He was going to get every weapon and every survival kit they had in HQ and find Eggsy. Harry would steal a plane if he had to and was confident he could fly to Eggsy’s last known coordinates and locate him with heat-sensing scans.

It was a good thing that Merlin insisted on every agent learning how to pilot for emergency reasons.

Hearing beeping from his glasses, Harry impatiently ignored them, storming over towards the Kingsman transportation center and feeling a sick sense of satisfaction when he saw Bedivere take one look at his face and immediately scurry in the other direction.

“Harry.” It was Merlin, most likely overriding the comms Harry denied. His tone was sympathetic; he’d been fond of Eggsy as only Merlin could be and was the sole confidant of Harry when he first started seeing Eggsy as more than his protege. “Harry—”

“I’m going to find Eggsy, and I’m going to bring him home,” Harry declared, snatching a rifle right out of a startled Percival’s arms. Checking to see if it was loaded, Harry made his way towards the airborne transportation. “Merlin, I will take the glasses and a plane full of weaponry. If you want to be my handler, I’d be grateful for the assistance, but if you don’t want to get involved, I suggest warning your tech support staff and the poor pilots to start running. No one is going to stand in my way.”

“This is an unsanctioned mission and going against Arthur’s direct orders. You can be benched for months, or even—”

“As long as Eggsy is safe in my arms, I don’t give a damn about my position here!” Harry snapped. “For the sake of our friendship, Merlin, just tell me if you’re going to help me!”

For one horrible moment, Merlin didn’t reply.

“I’ll help you, but only because I don’t want you throwing yourself in headfirst and being the second Kingsman lost to us this week.” Merlin’s voice quieted. “You’re taking a helicopter; it’s easier to land. I’ll send you the approval number through the glasses, and while you get ready, I’m assigning you a new, completely false mission in Afghanistan for an undetermined amount of time. I’ll be sending that to you; I’m sure Arthur will stop you in the hall to ask you about that. Review it, and act angry, but don’t punch him in the face.”

Harry nodded stiffly, letting a small amount of relief bleed into his voice. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This may be a fool’s errand, but who knows? There might be a miracle.”

“There better be.” Harry was no stranger to death, but it didn’t mean his hope for a single sliver of impossibility was crushed entirely. “There will be.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chester King lowered his head, head lowered and hands folded solemnly in front of his body, his tie perfectly straight and lapels equally so, with the brass buttons gleaming in the bright sunlight. He was grateful for the hat that covered his head, for the heat beat down relentlessly.

Although many people assumed that pattering rain with the hint of thunder accompanied days like this, Chester knew from his experience that this was untrue. The weather simply had no care for the lives lost. He suspected that authors often wrote of howling winds that tore through trembling trees and freezing sheets of sleet that soaked through heavy howling was because people wanted hope that something out there cared for their loved one, something so strongly that it could affect the entire world.

The funeral itself was sparsely attended. Merlin had quietly told Chester that the boy’s own mother couldn’t bear to attend or send over her daughter to give her closure. “She blamed Galahad for it all, said that it was his fault for making him go the same way as his father. He’s taking it to heart.”

Chester’s agent was watching, fists clenched at his sides and his dark suit impeccable. Merlin, at his side, placed a hand on his shoulder as he watched the coffin was now slowly lowered into its own neatly-constructed plot, each corner straight and true.

Kingsman had a long history of graveyards, but something Merlin took especial care not to let the new recruits see was Kingsman’s very own private burial ground, set aside for the agents whose relatives, spouses, or friends didn’t wish to have a physical reminder of loss on their hands. Chester suspected he’d join them when it was his time, with the traditional name, title, birthdate, and death, perhaps a poetic little quote engraved in the gravestone, like _Where your treasure is, there shall be your heart also,_ something Galahad had chosen himself for Gary Unwin’s own.

Galahad’s single gloved hand briefly touched the headstone, and to Chester’s surprise, his shoulders briefly shook, before straightening and turning to face the crowd. His mouth opened once, as if to say something, then closed, his head turning and nodding towards the two gravediggers positioned on each side of the plot.

There was a hush when the first shovelful of dirt fell with a soft _splat_. Galahad’s face was inscrutable, the face of the perfect agent. Chester couldn’t see his eyes through the sunlight flashing off his glasses from this distance.

After the ceremony, people lined up to offer their commiserations. Chester, as he was moving forward, watched Galahad’s lips move, two same words falling from his lips— _thank you, thank you._ Merlin’s hand would occasionally come to rest on Galahad’s arm, and after Percival left, with a formal little bow, Chester stepped forward and shook Galahad’s hand, once.

“My condolences for your loss,” Chester said, and Galahad snatched his hand away.

“Don’t pretend as if you’re sincere,” he hissed. “You never cared about his safety or welfare, despite the fact that he fairly passed all of the tests. I bet you didn’t give a rat’s arse when his feed went dead because you _wanted_ him—“

“You’re lucky I didn’t penalize you for violating Kingsman protocol,” Chester then replied coolly, displeased at his agent’s sudden emotional outburst. “And the agent in question perished less than twenty-four hours after he reached headquarters. Your mission was a failure.”

“Arthur—“ Merlin now said, startled.

“I think I’ve had enough of this for today,” Galahad then whispered, already turning away, even though another queue was forming behind Chester as they spoke. “I wish to mourn my loss in peace. Something you might never understand yourself, Arthur. Good day.” 

* * *

That evening, Chester let out a rare sigh, heading towards his office to settle down. It had been a long day, and Merlin had kept him busy helping screen the new recruits. Chester had already chosen his, but Galahad had refused to put forth his own candidate. He could understand, honestly, but Galahad’s insolence was a pattern. It was time to finally put a stop to these little rebellions.

It was late, and all he wished is for a strong brandy and a place to retire. He really ought to go home, but he had paperwork to fill out. Chester missed the field sometimes, but being knighted Arthur was an honor and a chance to rise from the ranks of a mere knight.

He approached the room, ready for a brief rest before going to work once more, and stepped into the room, turning his back to lock the door so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

That was why, Chester told himself later, he didn’t spot the intruder until he heard the distinctive click of a gun.

Gary Unwin smirked from one of the armchairs. “Hello, Arthur,” he said cheerfully, “have you ever seen some of the more classic spy movies?”


End file.
